


Drinking Alone

by NemesisGray



Series: Dance Monkey [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23311450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NemesisGray/pseuds/NemesisGray
Summary: the 2nd time Camhaoir meets Aric
Relationships: Female Imperial Agent/Aric Jorgan
Series: Dance Monkey [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676395
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

Aric sighed into his nonalcoholic drink and rubbed his ribs. Three months mandatory leave for injury in the line of work.

It was boring.

So far, he’d been out of the hospital for about two weeks and he was bored out of his mind. He wanted to be with Havoc. With Vanya if he was honest with himself.

The fact that she hadn’t emailed him back hurt. Hurt a lot.

But she was busy with whatever it was Garza had her doing, wasn’t she?

Sighing in frustration, he tossed back his non-alcoholic drink, motioning for a refill.

#

Camhaoir stalked into the cantina, intent on drinking alone. Her eyes wandered about the dusky, low-lit room and her eyes lit on the grey Cathar from two days before.

The meddling one that stopped her from drinking herself to an accidental falling death.

She narrowed her gaze and studied him, struggling to keep her heart rate in check. What luck he was here. She’d been halfway looking for him since his unwanted heroics.

He looked lonely, upset, depressed.

He looked exactly how she felt.

Purposely, feigning confidence she didn’t at all feel, Camhaoir approached the man.

“Mind if I sit here?” She knew what her voice did to people, the way the extra vibrato of her Cathar vocal cords made her lyrical accent trip along like the smoothest of melodies caused people to shiver.

The Cathar was no different, his body shivered even as he turned his intense green gaze to hers. “No,” he answered, shock reading on his face.

She smiled sardonically and sat. “Tequila. Five shots. Thanks.”

The bartender nodded and went to fill her order.

“Wookie tequila?” The Cathar asked.

Camhaoir arched a corrosive eyebrow and turned to look at him. “Oh, you remember me.”

“Yeah.” His eyes roamed her face, noting her features; lapis skin, freckles, magenta hair, wine colored irises, blush sclera, angular facial features, he frowned as he saw the tips of her canines pressing into her bottom lip. “I figured that’s why you sat beside me.”

She scoffed, humorlessly. “You Jedi or something?”

“Just observant.”

“Right.” she crooned as her shots were placed in front of her. “And no, just normal Chiss-friendly Tequila. Or what passes for Chiss-friendly on this planet.” She punctuated her sentence by downing a shot.

He snorted and took a sip of his drink, frowning as it hit his tongue.

“You’re not drinking alcohol, why are you here?” She made an obnoxious show of downing one of her shots slowly since she knew he was watching her.

“My apartment is boring.” He answered honestly.

Her eyebrows went to her hairline in surprise. “Why are you doing non-alcoholic drinks? You clean?”

“No.” He tapped his ribs. “Still healing.”

Now her curiosity was truly piqued. “How badly were you injured?”

“Bad enough to be in a bacta tank for three weeks.” He winced at the memory.

She sniffed the air around him, he no longer reeked of bacta. “How long have you been out?”

“Two weeks.”

“That explains why you don’t smell.” She flashed an acerbic grin and downed another shot.

They lapsed into silence.

#

Aric studied the woman out of the corner of his eye. She was a mixture of Chiss and something else, reminiscent of Cathar. Chiss features but she wasn’t Chiss. Not fully anyway. Not like Vanya.

No, this woman wasn’t fully Chiss, not with her magenta hair, the very presence of her irises. Chiss didn’t have irises from what he noticed.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from her. Her features were arresting, fascinating. She could never be described as beautiful, but he found himself drawn over and over again to her features.

He found himself distressed. Distressed because this feeling was new, borderline an obsession with somebody he didn’t know past saving her from killing herself. Vanya never garnered this reaction from him. He could spend hours without gazing upon her face. But this Chiss that wasn’t Chiss, if she turned her face to where Aric couldn’t see it, he found himself moving to catch the barest glimpse of it.

“Why did you stop me?” The woman suddenly asked, turning to look at him, her fifth and final shot clutched in her fingers.

“You remind me of somebody.” Aric quickly dropped his gaze to his drink. “I reacted without thought.”

The woman snorted, downing her shot before slamming the empty glass on the bar top. “Who is she? Somebody you have a hard-on for but doesn’t love you back?” She gestured for five more shots.

Aric tensed. Nobody but he knew his true feelings for Vanya. Which he honestly wasn’t even sure he had feelings for his CO past admiration. His answer was a warning growl of frustrated confusion.

He expected the woman to laugh, to mock him. She’d been doing a very good job of it by making a show downing her shots.

What he didn’t expect was for her hand to touch his arm lightly, delicately, nor for her to apologize.

“Sorry.” His eyes snapped to her face to see her looking awkward, apologetic, ashamed. “Are you here trying to drink away your pain?”

“Something like that.” He really wished he could have alcohol, to numb both his pain and confusion. But the pain medication he was on for his bruised ribs -bruises, the one thing bacta tanks didn’t cure- wasn’t supposed to be mixed with alcohol. And he wasn’t stupid enough to try that no matter how much he ached to.

He watched with thinly veiled jealousy as the bartender placed her renewed shots in front of her, the way she tossed the man a smile, how the fingers of her other hands caressed the shot glass closest to her. Aric was no longer sure if he was jealous of her ability to drink alcohol or the shot glass for feeling her touch.

He closed his eyes, taking in a calming breath and regretting it instantly. He hadn’t noticed her scent but now that she was touching his sleeve, he smelled her. She scented of bluebells. 

Flowers. She scented of flowers and rainy mornings, petrichor, and beaches. 

Her fingers stroked his sleeve as she quietly spoke, oblivious to his inner turmoil, leaning closer to him, “We should be drinking alone. Together.”

“What?” His eyes snapped to hers again, at her too close face and he was reminded again how he couldn’t not look at her face.

“Misery loves company. So, how about tonight, we drink alone but together.” Her lips quirked into a slight, regretful smile. Her brow furrowed the longer Aric stared at her in confusion. “Or is that only a Chiss saying? Do you not have that saying here?”

“‘Misery loves company’?” he asked, at her nod he shook his head. “No, we have that here too.”

“Camhaoir.” Her hand slipped into his.

“Aric.” He smirked, instantly loving the way her hand was warm where Vanya’s was always cold. “Kuh-vay-or?”

Her grin turned sincere, reminiscent sweet. “You’re the first person to say my name correctly.”

“I’m great with Cathar names.” He answered, canting his head towards her, as if they were about to divulge deep secrets, evident he was curious of why she had a Cathar name. His gaze intent on her face, gauging her reaction to his knowledge, to his closeness.

“How do you know it’s Cathar?” She gazed at him quizzically, leaning in despite herself, pulled in by his gaze, his scent, his warmth, and her need to know how he knew; nobody ever guessed the origin of her name. Not ever. Not even other Cathar.

“I just do.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he read the name in his favorite book series, that it was the name of the heroine. A fictional woman he had a massive crush on since he was ten.

Her eyes roamed his face, perhaps guessing more than he said because she smiled slightly. “Depending on how great of a company you are, I might tell you the origin of my name.” She finished her lean, pressing her breast into his arm, her chin on his shoulder, something flashed in his eyes and she found herself reacting to it subconsciously.

“What if I already know the origins of your name?” He whispered across her cheek.

“Then I’ll let you guess and reward you if you get it right.” Her breath wafted across his chin. “But only if you turn out to be good company.”

“I thought we were drinking alone.” He switched his drink to his other hand, his now free hand petting her from the top of her head down her back, stopping and resting at her lower back.

Camhaoir let out a sound like a purr. “Together. Drinking alone together.”

“Deal.” He took a swig of his drink.

She grinned crookedly at him, her focus on his throat, her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes lazily pursuing his features. Her grin changed, becoming wolfish the longer she gazed at him. “Promise me one thing, Aric.” Her natural lilt making his name sound like a song.

“Yes?” He swallowed thickly.

“No kisses over drinks.” She winked at him, pulling away from him, downing the shot held between her fingers, a mad twist to her lips and a daring glint to her eyes.

“Promise.” Aric knew immediately he’d regret making that promise.

#

Aric couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face, couldn’t stop the shiver up his spine when she laughed. Deep, throaty. He loved the way she said his name.

He could scent her own interest in him, the way her eyes would roam over his shoulders, the way she bit her lip every time he smiled or laughed. The way her eyes closed when he said her name.

They were playing a game. A game he wasn’t sure who was winning, what the prize would be, or even what it meant to be the loser.

He also didn’t care.

He was glad she sought him out.

The bartender sounded the last call.

Aric watched hungrily at the way Camhaoir’s throat moved as she drank down her non-alcoholic margarita quickly - she switched to non-alcoholic drinks because she felt she was being unfair to him.

“Street tacos?” He heard himself blurt out. All he knew was he didn’t want her to walk out of his life just yet; just a little more time with her.

“Street tacos?” She arched an intrigued eyebrow. “The Republic has street tacos?”

“We have the best street tacos.” He grinned down at her, extended his hand as he stood in one fluid motion.

“I don’t know,” she spoke slowly, her face a picture of feigned disbelief, her eyes raking up and down his body, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she finally met his gaze.

Yes, mutual interest. He sniffed, pulling her up more forcibly than called for, forcing her to slam into his chest. The hitch in her breathing, the flash of desire in her eyes made him wish he never promised not to kiss her.

“Trust me. They are the best.” He didn’t let go of her hand as he pulled her out of the cantina, he knew the perfect place to get street tacos.

#

Camhaoir was in trouble. Aric was dangerous. Completely, utterly dangerous. His voice, his eyes, his smile, the sound of his laugh -bottomless, gravelly.

Even the way he moved, his warm hand in hers.

She decided looking at her feet was better for her heart.

She didn’t want to have this reaction to him.

She wanted to drink and then forget him.

But she couldn’t. 

Not now. Not after tonight.

She didn’t forget him the other night either. She woke up with a Hutt of a headache and remembered his face, his kind, concerned eyes.

She felt so many emotions as she showered away the night before. Anger, shame, fear.

What if Aric was an SIS agent specifically planted to spy on her?

What if he was an Imperial Agent placed specifically to spy on her?

She didn’t like that he induced so many emotions in her. That his concern made her feel something.

She’d been floating peacefully along in her numbed state perfectly fine until his hand around her wrist and his kind words reminded her of the rage that drifted along underneath the numbness.

The rage at the Chiss from stealing her away from her family, her family for not running far enough, the Empire for brainwashing her, the SIS for using her brainwashing.

And she lashed out. She ripped Aric’s shirt, she remembered. Asking him if he was going to use her trigger-word.

Her rage morphed into agitation at her ability to use the phrase ‘trigger-word’ with a total stranger but not talk about anything else with brainwashing.

It was until the very real look of dismay, bemusement, and anxiousness entered his eyes that Camhaoir realized how wrong she was.

Then all she felt was shame.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when she woke up the anger came back, the rage. Rage she ungraciously directed towards Aric.

She felt an overwhelming urge to locate him, to hurt him until she was numb again, until her anger was once again pushed back into the depths of her lightless soul.

She felt vindicated when she spied Aric sitting at the bar, feeling perverse pleasure at his depression.

Until she learned the reason for his mood.

She snapped at him. Only to regret her choice of words and tone at his flinch.

She reminded him of somebody he was in love with but who didn’t love him back.

She knew what it was to want something with every fiber of your being only to not receive it; for it to constantly be just out of her grasp.

She meant to only stay for a drink or two, not get involved in sedate flirtations, surreptitious hungry glances, wanting touches.

“Here we are!” Aric announced with a flourish, clutching her hand tighter for a second.

Pulled from her thoughts, Camhaoir gazed at the taco speeder doubtfully. “Here?”

“Yup. Get the spicy pork tacos. You won’t regret it.” He flashed another smile, his eyes smoldering.

“Very well.” She rolled her eyes, trying to feign lightheartedness, not to give into the charged mood of the moment.

Why did this feel like an impromptu date?

#

The two of them ate in companionable silence. Not looking at each other in a way that meant they were gazing at each other.

Small glances, small brushes of arms against arms, or fingers against fingers.

Whatever mood had started in the cantina, the presence of food and being in public hadn’t lessened it. If anything, it exacerbated the charge.

It was almost tangible, an electrical current along their skins. Pulling them together, pulsing in the air around them.

And then the perfect moment, when it coalesced, every moment falling together perfectly. 

Aric saw sour cream on her cheek.

Without thinking, his hand reached out, his thumb wiping away the smudge.

She gazed up at him. And he realized there wasn’t much of a height difference. She was probably only about four inches shorter than him. Her laugh hardy when it wasn’t bitter. Her hair magenta and currently giving out a halo due to the lights.

His gaze met hers for a second before he ducked his head and pressed a questioning kiss to her lips.

Camhaoir moaned, her arms encircling his neck, molding herself to his lean frame, her mouth opening unprompted for him to deepen the kiss. Taking full advantage, he slid his tongue in her mouth, tasty the spicy pork tacos, the tequila, and a tangy taste that had to be specifically her.

Eventually they separated for air, their foreheads touching as they panted.

“I thought I said no kisses.” she spoke wondrously, the fingers of one hand touching her lips, her wine-colored eyes roaming over his face.

“You said no kisses over drinks. Didn’t say anything about kisses over tacos.” A technicality, but she kissed him back.

“True.” The fingers touching her lips, stroked the scar on his face seconds before she kissed him again. 


	2. Chapter 2

The taxi ride back to Aric’s apartment was a blur, all heavy breathing, hot lingering kisses, and wandering hands. Camhaoir briefly wondered if she should warn him about her back but his purr at discovering her fur at the small of her back had her not caring.

“What are you?” He gasped at the entrance to his apartment, claws raking through the line of fur along her spine.

She chuckled and yanked him into his apartment, allowing the door to shut, slamming him against the wall before taking a step back and stripping. 

This was always the moment of truth. When her partners saw her naked. She never bothered to shave any of her fur-well, more like fuzz- but it was noticable; bright magenta fur against lapis-blue skin. 

Most of the time her sexual partners knew her heritage or they were too drunk to really pay attention. Aric was neither. He didn’t know her heritage and he wasn’t drunk.

His eyes bugged, his breath hitching as she peeled her shirt over her head.

Camhaoir was all lean, sinewy muscle rippling under her skin. There couldn’t be an ounce of unhealthy fat on her slim frame. She was what his mother would describe as reedy, unattractive. But to Aric. Camhaoir’s body was perfect. There was no doubt she could take down a target four times her size and he found his dry mouth suddenly salivating.

He watched, enraptured as she turned, sweeping her hair off to the side, showing him her bare back as she bent, making a show of peeling off her pants. When had she taken off her boots?

She hadn’t been wearing a bra, and he was greeted with the sight scars cross-crossing her back and of an uninterrupted line of pink fur traveling the length of her spine to pool in a patch of equally pink fur at the small of her back. He felt it in the taxi as they were making-out but to be greeted with it; to see it. He swallowed past a suddenly dry throat.

His eyes roamed her bare back greedily, ignoring her scars, focusing on the line of pink fur, the slight flaring of her hips, her shapely, muscular legs. Even her back was a study in corded muscle beneath all the scars. And he didn’t care.

His traveling eyes finally made it all the way back up her body to her face. She was gazing at him over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded, full of tentative passion. The air was suddenly thick with anticipation.

This was her big reveal, he realized. She was gauging his reaction to see whether or not he still wanted her. 

Keening low in his throat, Aric reached out, his clawed hands grasping her hips and yanking her back against him, allowing her to feel how much he still wanted her. Growling, he licked a swathe up her throat, nibbling at an ear.

An ear that also had a dusting of magenta fuzz along the shell. An ear that had a decidedly pointed tip with tufts of magenta fur.

He stared at the ear. Wondrously.

Lapis blue skin covered in magenta fur. Pointed ears.

He’d literally never seen anything so erotic. 

Seeing her blue skin peeking through the fur. It was sexy. No other way he could describe it. 

Reverently, he bit down on the tip of her ear, one of his hands sliding to the apex of her thighs, holding her against him, his other hand finding her other ear, fingers pinching the tip. She gasped, her arms going to circle around his waist as he continued teasing her ears.

He would never be able to properly describe her taste. There was a tang to her skin, to her fur that was better than any pure-blooded Cathar or Chiss he’d ever been with. The fur on the tips of her ears a different texture than Cathar fur or even Chiss hair; finer, like down feathers. Delicate, soft, comforting. 

“Perfection!” he breathed as he nibbled at her jaw, discovering yet more fur.

He wished she didn’t wear her hair like a curtain around her face, hiding her ears and the fur on her jaw. But he understood. If she walked around advertising her attractiveness, he’d never have stood a chance.

Not with her enticing scent, the way she moved like liquid violence, her voice, her laugh, her looks. He caught others stealing glances at her all night in the cantina. It was why he decided to approach her in the first place two nights ago.

A few minutes of rutting against her, his focus entirely on her ears, her fur had him feeling like he ran a marathon on Tatooine.

“Aric,” she pulled away enough to turn to him, she sounded just as out of breath as he, “let’s get rid of these pesky clothes.”

He was beyond talking, nodding, his hands helping her strip him.

Finally naked, he yanked her in for another kiss, a hand delving into the fur on her lower back, the other pinching the tip of her ear, his teeth and tongue fighting hers for dominance as he led her to his bed.

Falling in a wanton heap on the bed, her legs around his waist, him pressing at her entrance, he had just enough thought left to pull back. He had to tell her, warn her.

“Camhaoir, my barb-”

She cut him off by sheathing him deep inside her. “I’m half-Cathar. Don’t worry about it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Camhaoir was comfortable, contented. Happy.

Feelings she hadn’t felt since leaving home.

She needed to leave. She couldn’t be feeling these emotions. She shouldn’t.

It was too much.

Slowly extracting herself from Aric’s sleeping form, she twisted, moving to the edge of the bed. She had to leave. Immediately.

“Hey,” his soft voice accompanied with a soft touch to her lower back, “where are you going?”

She grimaced, looking back. “Leaving.”

“Why?” He sat up with a frown, the blanket pooling at his waist.

Camhaoir bit her lip and looked away. Aric was a very attractive man. “We both knew what this was back at the cantina.”

“Did we?” 

She felt his hand caress down her spine, his claws out and lightly sifting through her fur. 

She purred despite herself. “Aric!” she crooned, feeling his shiver in the way his claws scraped along her skin. 

“Camhaoir!” He growled her name, yanking her back against his chest.

His solid, warm, soft chest. 

She cooed, rubbing her back against him. He was so soft. And his scent was phenomenal.

“You fight dirty.” She turned, hands wrapping around his skull as she kissed him.

“Every advantage.” He nipped at her lips, forcing her to straddle him. 

Camhaoir laughed, sinking down on his lap, his hands on her hips guiding her as she set the pace.

#

Sated, once again cuddling, lying in his arms, she felt contentment washing over her in waves, almost tangible in the way her body responded to an emotion she wasn’t used to feeling.

Aric grabbed one of her hands, nuzzling it before kissing the center.

A frown marred his face, his eyes opening lazily to gaze at her palms.

“How did these happen?” He indicated the scars by rubbing his thumb across them.

“I caused them.” Tensing her hands, her claws unsheathed. “Half Cathar. Remember?” 

“Why?” He studied her face.

Camhaoir sighed. She never told anybody about these scars. “I was angry. Angry that I didn’t die.” Sitting up, she took his hand and placed it over the scar that was exactly one inch right of her heart. “That this didn’t kill me.”

He frowned, sitting up, taking her hands in his remaining hand, the hand on her scar caressing the tissue. “Why did you want it to kill you?”

Laughing hollowly, she scoffed. “Remember when I asked if you’d use my trigger-word?” 

“Yes.” He remembered. It was so random. It was why he remembered her phrasing. 

“What does that imply?” She growled in frustration.

He knew exactly what it implied. “Brainwashing. How?” The empire had brainwashing? 

Camhaoir growled in frustration, her hands cording through her hair before she made a helpless gesture.

“Right. Brainwashing. Can’t talk about it.” He chirped at her, stealing her hands, kissing her palms. 

“I never wanted to be this.” Why was she telling him? But then again. After tonight, what did it matter? He didn’t even know her last name. “I was happy on Nelvaan. But my parents.” She looked down, bringing her knees to her chest. “My parents were enemies. My mother was Chiss leant out to the Empire. My father was SIS. They met, fell in love. Dared to fall in love. They fled. But there’s nowhere you can flee that the Ascendancy won’t find you.” Turning her head to the window she gazed at the cityscape outside the apartment. “I had a choice. I either work for the Ascendancy, the Empire or my family dies.”

“That’s not much of a choice.” He gently pulled her into his arms. 

“It was easy to make.” She wasn’t going to cry. She never cried. She wasn’t sure she had any emotion but fury to give. “The only way to get out of my contract is to die.” Meeting his eyes, she let him see all the emotions she wasn’t capable of exhibiting. “Death is the only way.”

As depressing as it was, as much as his heart broke, he understood completely. Elara often talked about how she was thankful she’d been Imperial and not Chiss. Vanya lived in mild fear of the day the Ascendancy revoked her banishment. 

Vanya said the only way one left the Ascendancy was death.

“You want breakfast?” Aric didn’t know where the question came from.

It was inane. Borderline rude. Completely tone-deaf to the conversation; but he honestly hadn’t a clue how to express his feelings.

All he knew was he didn’t want Camhaoir to die. That there had to be a way for her family to be safe and for her to live because the idea of her not existing anymore hurt for some reason.

He wanted to think it was because the idea of someone sacrificing themselves so cavalierly, of wanting death to get out of a contract was anathema to his beliefs. Sacrificing yourself to save your loved ones was good. Sacrificing yourself to get out of a contract that threatened your family was horrible. He couldn’t explain it better than that and he wasn’t even trying to explain it to her. 

He couldn’t find a way to express the difference only he knew one was there. Nuance, as his sister, the lawyer, would say. Contracts and lives always hinged on nuances.

It was a subtle nuance between the two. The difference being Camhaoir wasn’t sacrificing herself for the good of her family or even an idea. She was wanting to die so as to free her family.

And that bothered Aric. It bothered him more than he could explain why.

The same with the idea that the Empire had brainwashing. And even more the implication that the Republic used it.

It didn’t make any sense. Why would the Republic use Imperial brainwashing? 

“What kind of breakfast?” Camhaoir, for her part, oblivious to his feelings, latched onto the subject change like a lifeline.

It was more than exceedingly awkward to have a conversation about how she wished for death with somebody she didn’t know, let alone a one-night stand.

“Pancakes?” He arched his brow.

She blinked at him, her head tilted to the side in question, a slow smile spreading across her face before a manic giggle escaped her throat.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, she tried to stifle her giggles and failed.

Falling backward, a hand covering her mouth, the other clutching her stomach as she giggled in a way she hadn’t since she was a child.

The sheer accidental hilarity of being asked to breakfast, totally at odds with the graveness of the before conversation struck her and she couldn’t stop laughing.

After a while, Aric joined in, his dry, deep, warm chuckles warming a part of Camhaoir emotionally she didn’t want to dwell on. His arms wrapped loosely about her frame as they laughed together, breathless and ridiculous.

Nothing about their situation was humorous. Not her death wish. Not the awkward pressence of sex between them. Not even the disingenuous knowledge of each other’s names. 

But they couldn’t stop laughing at the idea of being like normal people, sharing breakfast, and not only breakfast, but pancakes.


	4. Chapter 4

They ordered in. Camhaoir went to answer the door wearing one of his t-shirts before coming back to bed with the to-go boxes.

Their shared breakfast was awkward but pleasant. 

Aric smirked as he watched the neck of his borrowed t-shirt slip off her shoulder. “Do you know how alluring you look?”

“You’re rather scrumptious looking yourself.” she winked lasciviously.

He still couldn’t believe she called him scrumptious but the way she chewed her top lip as her eyes raked over his bare chest had him aching to hear her gasp his name in her lyrical accent again. And again, until she was hoarse.

“I’ll be right back.” She smiled shyly, tucking some hair behind her ear as she climbed off the bed and headed towards the refresher.

His eyes followed the movement of her bare legs, the way her hips swayed as she walked, the power of her legs evident in every movement; Aric felt a surge of jealousy as he realized the delivery person saw her practically naked.

A possessiveness he wasn’t used to feeling, had never felt before rumbled in his chest at the thought. He heard himself snarl.

“Aric?” she asked from the doorway of the refresher.

His eyes snapped to her face before traveling down the length of her body. How sublime she looked in his t-shirt, with her long lapis-blue legs peeking out the bottom of the shirt as it fell to just below her ass, should’ve been illegal he decided, as he swallowed thickly, forgetting his moment of jealousy with the very real knowledge of her being as attracted to him as he was to her. She hadn’t allowed him to get dressed, stating she preferred to see the perfection that was his body without clothes.

“Something wrong?” her brow furrowed as she moved to sit back on the bed, her hands reaching out to pet his face. 

He didn’t miss the sigh of happiness as she stroked his fur, her eyes half-lidded as she went from petting his face to making circular motions on his chest, her claws out and sifting through his fur, a sound similar to a purr moving her throat.

“Why do I hear the shower?” he asked instead of answering her question; his thoughts were too chaotic, too nebulous, to vocalize.

She stopped caressing him, her gaze dropping to her hands on his chest, her fingers bunching in the longer fur that grew on his chest. “I was going to take a shower. Get ready to leave.” Her eyes slowly rose to meet his. “I have to get back.”

“To the SIS?” Reaching out, his left hand cupped her face.

She nodded. “I’m a new recruit, they like to keep tabs on me.” Her words were monotone, but her eyes were bitter.

His mind harkened back to the knowledge that she was brainwashed. That the Republic found out about it and was using it against her.

So much of her life was against her will. 

A sudden fear gripped him. What if she hadn’t wanted to come home with him? Yes, she found him attractive; yes, she kissed him back. But she said no kisses over drinks, and he took that to mean he could kiss her over street tacos. What if she hadn’t wanted to come back to his place at all?

What if he basically forced her?

She was willing, more than willing but what if that was because he coerced her?

What if she only stayed for breakfast because of the promise of free food?

How much of this situation was her choice and how much of it was Aric coercing her to do what he wanted because he didn’t want her to leave?

“Camhaoir,” he watched as she shuddered at his usage of her name, “I didn’t force you into anything, did I?”

She looked at him quizzically, her head tilted to the side as a confused smile quirked on her face. “What? Force me?”

“You said no kisses over drinks, so I kissed you over tacos. Did you want me to kiss you? Did you want to come home with me? I stopped you from leaving earlier, did you-” 

Camhaoir shushed him with her fingers to his lips, a soft look in her eyes. “Aric, if I really wanted to leave, nothing you could’ve done or said would’ve stopped me.” Pressing a soft kiss to his lips, she nuzzled his face. “I promise, you didn’t force me to do anything.”

He couldn’t describe how relieved he felt with her assurances, chirping at her, he pulled her in for a kiss, dragging her onto his lap. “Stay with me.” he breathed as the kiss ended.

“What?” Once again, they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Stay with me. Don’t go back to the SIS.” His fingers stroked up her neck, caressing an ear. “They don’t know you’re with me. They can’t make you do anything. You can stay here. With me.”

Camhaoir searched his face. He was so hopeful, so open, so earnest. He wanted her to stay with him.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because,” he drew a blank. He didn’t know. He didn’t have an answer; not one he could properly vocalize. He just wanted her to stay. “I want you to stay. Do you want to stay?”

“I do.” She smiled, shyly, sweetly. “I do want to stay.”


	5. Chapter 5

Aric woke to the incessant chiming of his holo, yanking him from the euphoria of snuggling with the woman in his arms.

“What?” he snarled as he violently pressed the answer button. He may be on medical leave, but he knew to answer his holo.

“Jorgan, how are you? Recovering well, I presume.”

He bolted upright at the voice coming from the other end to see Vanya in her perfectly coiffed beauty and fatigues gazing impassively back at him.

“Sir!” Aric saluted, letting the sheet drop to his waist. Vanya didn’t even react. “Yes, sir. My recovery is on track. I’m going to the doctor later today.” He found himself frowning at her image. Her face was too perfect, too symmetrical, her hair too perfect in its military standard bun. 

He wasn’t at all surprised to find that he no longer felt attracted to his CO. Instead, all he felt was dissatisfaction with himself that he wasted time thinking about her.

And now that he had Vanya right next to Camhaoir to compare the two women he learned there was nothing to compare. Camhaoir was superior in every way.

Vanya nodded. “Excellent. I expect you to be hale and hearty when Havoc returns to Coruscant in three days.”

“Three days?” His medical leave wasn’t up yet. He had another month and a half.

His CO frowned. “Yes. Have you not been reading the emails I sent you?” A rebuke if ever there was one.

“I have been busy.” Aric responded. He knew he had messages, he ignored them in favor of spending every moment with Camhaoir.

Vanya arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Have you? And what has had you so occupied you forgot to check your messages? The woman in your bed?” She clicked her tongue and looked angry for a second before her face smoothed out to emotionless. Aric knew she was angry at his lack of perceived professionalism and not the fact he had a woman in his bed.

“I’ve been on medical leave, sir.” he barely suppressed a growl of rage. “I have another month and a half of mandatory medical leave. I was told by the attending doctor not to check my messages as the stress could slow my healing.”

The truth and at the time he hadn’t understood why reading messages were so detrimental to his health but now he was happy for the excuse.

Vanya frowned again. “I’ll have Dorne message this doctor. To make sure. Wouldn’t want your health to be,” her eyes slide over to his right, where she could clearly see Camhaoir’s naked back, “in question.”

“Understood, sir,” Aric answered testly, the full knowledge his CO didn’t trust him like a stab to the gut.

“Be ready in three days to rejoin Havoc.” Vanya sniffed delicately before ending the call.

Aric growled, hand gripping the holo, almost crushing it before growling and tossing it across the room.

He sat breathing heavily with his head in his hands, trying to calm himself, his anger and staggering disappointment that he ever liked Vanya warring for dominance.

He didn’t feel true calm until Camhaoir’s arms wrapped around him, her front pressed to his back as she rained light kisses along his shoulder and neck.

“Your CO sounds like a real shabuir.” She scraped her teeth along the shell of his ear.

He laughed humorlessly, “I don’t know what that means. Is it Mando’a?” 

“It basically means asshole,” she shrugged against his back. “Spend enough time on fringe planets near Mandalorians and you’re gonna at least pick up the swear words.” She hugged him tightly before scooting around in the bed to climb into his lap, straddling him, she nuzzled his face, her hands petting the back of his skull. 

“I wouldn’t know about that.” Aric sighed, pressing their foreheads together. “Never been around Mandalorians. Cathar and Mandalorians tend to avoid each other.”

“Maybe in the Core Worlds,” Camhaoir whispered, “but in the Outer Rim, near Unknown Space, nobody really cares where you’re from only if you’re trying to kill them.”

“Sounds like the perfect place to hide.” He opened his eyes to see her studying him.

“It really is.” She sighed, placing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth. “We could go there. Head out tonight. I have a fast ship. Nobody would know we were gone.” She said it half-jokingly but they both knew she wasn’t joking.

Was it horrible that Aric wanted more than anything to take her up on her offer? To run and never look back.

He didn’t know her name. Despite spending the last couple weeks together, they never exchanged last names. 

And, he discovered, he didn’t care. He wanted to run, be with her where nobody could find them. There had to be a place, somewhere in the galaxy.

“What about your family?” Her family was being held hostage by the Empire and Ascendancy.

“I can fake our deaths. And not harm a single person.” Camhaoir deadpanned.

He believed her. 

They studied each other. Long enough for a strange sort of tension to form until finally he kissed her.

“Let me go to the doctor tomorrow. I don’t want to be a liability.” It still hurt to move sometimes and if he was going to run to Wild Space, to the Unknown Regions, then he wanted to be as close to one hundred percent healthy as possible.

She blinked at him in shock. “What? You sure? You’ll run with me?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I have no idea why. I’m not spontaneous, it makes no sense whatsoever. I haven’t known you that long but yeah, let’s run.”

The grin that spread across her face was slow but filled with so much joy. 

Keening low in her throat, she yanked his head in for a passionate kiss. “Rul. My last name is Rul.”

“Jorgan,” he rasped, removing the sheet, feeling her powerful thighs wrap around his waist as he thrust into her.

#

Camhaoir hummed, the stupid grin from the night before still plastered on her face. Aric agreed to run away with her. And he had so many flammable things in his apartment. She wondered if he knew how explosive some of his food was when combined with cleaners, she figured it was better to leave him in the dark.

She was so blissfully happy. This was working out to be exactly like her parents. One serendipitous meeting then running away together.

It wasn’t exactly like that. But Camhaoir could dream. Could hope that she and Aric worked out once they got to Unknown Space.

When her parents fled together, it was after a three weeklong fuck-fest on Ziost and discovering her mother was pregnant with Camhaoir. Everything else just fell into place.

From enemies to lovers to a family.

Camhaoir wanted that. Specifically, with Aric.

She looked at the wall chrono. He should be heading back from his doctor’s appointment soon. And she had cooked up something special. 

Both the chemicals needed to fake their own deaths and actual dinner. 

Her grin widened for a second, euphoria causing her to giggle effervescently before a knock on the door sounded.

Her smile fell, erased from her face as she stood frozen in the kitchenette.

The knock sounded again.

Mechnically, she approached the door. 

There could be only one person knocking.

They found her.

Her fingers pressed to the door as she waited, hoping against hope that they’d give up. Leave. Assume she wasn’t there.

“Onomotaphobia, open the door.” Ardun Kothe’s voice hissed through the door.

Camhaoir had a few seconds to compose her face of the seething rage she felt in her body before she woodenly opened the door.

Ardun Kothe frowned thunderously at her as he pushed past her and into the apartment.

His steady eyes darted about the room, taking in everything before landing back on her.

“I don’t appreciate the merry chase you’ve led me on, Legate.” He sighed, crossing his arms and looking for everything like a disappointed father. “And where is Sergeant Jorgan? He here somewhere? Will they find his body after it begins to stink?”

Camhaoir didn’t show a reaction but inside there was a flash of homicidal rage that Kothe would even suggest she’d kill Aric. “He’s out. At the hospital. Recovering.” Not a lie and she doubted Kothe would check other than to see if Aric was still alive.

The SIS man nodded. “Get dressed. We’re leaving. Onomatophobia.” 

Camhaoir felt her legs moving before her brain properly processed the directions. 

Eyes darting around the room, she desperately looked for any way to signal Aric that she hadn’t wanted to leave.

She paused in front of the refresher mirror; head tilted to the side as she stared at it. Kothe was in the kitchen, probably looking at her explosive handiwork.

Thinking quickly, she turned on the faucet, letting the water get hot enough as she used the toilet.

“Legate?” Kothe said loudly, his voice right outside the open door.

Camhaoir flushed the toilet and she heard him stop. Apparently, although he was a controlling bastard, he at least wanted to give him trained akk dog some semblance of false privacy.

She left the refresher drying her hands on her pants.

“Ready?” Kothe asked perfunctory.

“Do I have an option to say no?” Camhaoir asked blankly.

“No. Onomatophobia, you are to head straight towards your ship. No stopping. Head to Taris. Await further instruction once you reach the planet.” Kothe ordered.

“I’ve always enjoyed irradiated swamps.” Camhaoir heard herself say.

Kothe snorted and jerked his thumb towards the door. “Go.”

Camhaoir felt her body turn on its own and leave the apartment, the SIS man right behind her.

#

Aric came home to find his apartment door unlocked. Unholstering his blaster, he slowly opened the door.

“Camhaoir?” he called.

No answer. 

There was no sound. Not even the sound of her breathing or silent movement.

Taking a whiff of the stale apartment air, he picked up three scents. His, Camhaoir’s, and another person’s.

Growling he slammed his door shut.

They found her.

The karking SIS found her and ordered her away.

Turning a critical eye to his apartment, he noticed how busy she’d been in the kitchenette.

It was all too messy. There was no hidden message there. 

The same with the living room.

Nothing.

Bedroom, same thing.

But the refresher.

The mirror had a strange film on it.

Narrowing his eyes, brow furrowed, he turned on the hot water.

After a few minutes, steam began forming on the glass and that’s when he saw it.

Her initials in the Catharese alphabet and the number nine.

Touching the fogged-up glass gently, he let his head fall to the wall.

She was gone.

Taken from him.

But she didn’t want to leave.


End file.
